


Unmasked

by WriterGirl128



Series: No Big Deal [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Anchors, Best Friends, Bromance, Fluff and Angst, Full Moon, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt Scott, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, mentions of Allison, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2190171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the first full moon since Allison died, and Scott was…surprisingly okay. Stiles couldn’t quite figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah? Another one? Sure, why not!

It was the first full moon since Allison died, and Scott was…surprisingly okay. Stiles couldn’t quite figure it out.

He wasn’t complaining, exactly, it just unnerved him a bit. Not that he wanted Scott to not be okay, of course—no, the last thing he wanted to do was chain up his best friend for the umpteenth time because of some insane, grief-driven urge to attack anything within a five mile radius with a heartbeat. No, he could live the rest of his life without doing that again, and he’d be perfectly happy.

It just worried him, a bit. He never pushed Scott to talk about Allison, but Scott rarely chose to, either—it was like her name became a taboo, a forbidden topic. And as much as Stiles hated seeing the way Scott’s eyes got sad and how his shoulders slumped whenever they spoke of her, he also knew that completely avoiding the topic wasn’t healthy. Sometimes you get dirt in a wound and it ends up infected, and yes it’ll heal over with time, but it won’t stop hurting. Not until you reopen the wound and clean it out.

Scott needs to reopen his wounds. Stiles knew that, and he believed that a part of Scott knew it, too, and was just too scared to. Stiles understood that kind of feeling on a deep, tired level—he had some wounds he had to clean, himself. But he, unlike Scott, was working on it—whereas Scott seemed to just be thoroughly avoiding the topic altogether. Pretending he didn’t have any wounds to begin with.

Because that’s what Scott does—throws his own happiness and well-being in the backseat while he focuses on helping the people around him. He’d been so focused on helping Stiles find his footing after they kicked the nogitsune out of his head that he wasn’t taking the time to find his own. It was kind of like he skipped over denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, and went straight to the acceptance stage of grieving. It was like Scott mourned for a day or two, then one last time at her funeral, before pushing all thoughts of her away and beginning to worry about everyone else again. And as much as Stiles hated seeing him in pain or angry or upset or depressed, he also knew that you can’t just move on like that after losing a loved one. It just doesn’t work. He’s tried.

So when the first full moon rolls around, Stiles takes it upon himself to prepare for the worst. He mentally steeled himself, preparing for the harsh, bitter words thrown at him, and the cold glares he’d get when he said something even just a little random, or annoying. Before he figured out how to control himself completely, and control his emotions, the full moon always brought out the worst in Scott. The angry, animal side of him—a side that never failed to make Stiles’ heart lurch sadly. He couldn’t stand what full moons did to his best friend.

He had expected this one to be very similar to his earlier ones—gloomy, and angry, and violent. Stiles knew there were way too many dark feelings Scott just compartmentalized into a distant corner of his mind for him to not feel anything. He wouldn’t be able to keep up the ‘I’m fine’ façade while every fiber of his being urged him to just give in to the angry, hurt beast trying to claw itself out from under his skin.

But, Stiles realized quickly, it was just another regular day to Scott. There was nothing odd in his behavior, nothing even mildly dark about their interactions. Stiles let it go, for a while, not wanting to jinx anything by saying something to Scott. And it wasn’t like he wanted Scott to be in pain, or for him to be angry…except he kind of did. He just wanted anything besides the persistent mask of sunshine and optimism it seemed he wore. He wanted Scott to, at the very least, not wear the mask around him.

Stiles was wary of Scott’s overall _okayness_ as the day went on. He was still mentally steeled, ready for him to just…snap. But he didn’t.

When they got back to Scott’s house after school ended, Stiles tried to casually steer the conversation in that direction. They were raiding his kitchen for food, and Stiles use the calendar on the fridge to his advantage. He nodded to it as he opened the pantry, retrieving a half-eaten package of Oreos. “Full moon tonight,” he observed, as if he hadn’t even realized until then.

Scott snorted, shaking his head as he snatched the Oreos out of Stiles’ hands. “It’s about time, dude,” he laughed.

That made Stiles frown. “What do you mean?”

Scott just shook his head, amused, as he took three cookies out of the package before returning it to Stiles. “You’ve been dying to talk about it all day. Come on, Stiles—if there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s subtle. But I’m proud—you made it a whole—” he broke off, spinning to look at the clock on the oven, “—nine hours before bringing it up. I think it’s a new record.” He then proceeded to put an entire Oreo in his mouth.

Stiles, caught off guard at being, well, caught, tried to play it off. He shook his head, trying his best to form an expression of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied shortly.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles let the act go, exhaling deeply. “Right. Walking polygraph.”

“Dude,” Scott said after he swallowed, clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “I appreciate the concern, but I’m okay. Really.”

Stiles let himself deflate back against the counter, Scott’s hand still on his shoulder. “I know,” he said obediently, “I know you’re okay, Scott. It’s just—don’t you think you’re a little _too_ okay?” Saying the words out loud made something in Stiles’ stomach sink with guilt. “Not that I don’t want you to be okay,” he added quickly, but not before noticing the confused and slightly hurt expression that had formed on Scott’s face. “Because I do—obviously I want you to be okay, Scotty. I just…I don’t know. I don’t think you’re really as okay as you want us to think.”

Scott frowned as he looked down at his fingers. “We’re not just talking about the full moon anymore,” he said, only it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Stiles swallowed audibly, suddenly feeling very heavy. “Scott, you—you put everyone else in front of yourself. Don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t, because that’s a total lie. And I don’t know whether it’s—whether it’s an Alpha thing, or whether it’s a Scott thing, or if it’s just because you’re almost irrationally moral, but Scott…someone’s gotta take care of you too.”

Now Scott was silent for a moment, and a bit of the amusement in his expression faded—replaced by, Stiles saw with a pang, a certain weary sadness in his eyes. His hand was still on Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles felt almost comforted by the warm weight of it. Scott shook his head, only this time, it was a little sadder. “I’m fine,” he said, and his voice was a little quieter. There was a slight pressure on his shoulder as Scott squeezed it.

Stiles shook his head, now, leaning into Scott’s shoulder with his own, as if to remind him that he didn’t have to do all of the comforting—that maybe, he should let himself be comforted. Just this once. “Scott, I don’t need super senses to know when you’re lying. A, I know you better than that, and B, you’re a horrible liar. It’s not even worth it.”

Scott leaned closer into the touch of their shoulders, without realizing it, as he deflated next to Stiles against the counter. “I know,” he exhaled deeply, after a stretch of silence. “I know.”

He was silent then, so Stiles figured he should take the reins. Only, he wasn’t exactly sure what to say now—he didn’t want to force Scott to dig somewhere he didn’t want to, especially not tonight. And he didn’t want Scott to be hurting, either—that was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted Scott to stop pretending to be okay so much around him.

So that’s what he said. He let out a sigh and shook his head. “Scotty, it’s—it’s okay to not be okay, you know? You don’t have to act like you’re totally, a hundred percent alright after everything that’s happened. It’s okay to be sad, or upset, or angry. We’re not going to exile you away to some deserted island for having feelings.”

Scott nodded, dropping his gaze a little, though Stiles wasn’t sure what he was looking at. “I know,” he acknowledged. “I do, I just—god, I don’t know, Stiles.” He shook his head, almost helplessly. “How am I supposed to help you, and Lydia, and even Kira and Malia through everything if I can’t even—” he broke off halfway, shaking his head again. Stiles waited a moment for him to finish, but he didn’t.

Stiles put his arm around the back of Scott’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said gently, the tension in Scott practically making his body quiver, “it’s okay. We’re gonna be fine. And I get it—it’s the Alpha’s job to take care of his pack, blah blah blah. But sometimes you’ve got to let us take care of you too, y’know? You’re not alone, in this. The weight of the world, despite what you think, is _not_ entirely on your shoulders. You don’t have to be Alpha Invincible with us—and especially not with me. You know that, don’t you?”

Scott kept his gaze low, biting his lip. There was a look in his eyes, a watery look, that pulled at Stiles’ heart, making it feel like lead. Scott nodded slowly. “I know,” he said quietly, and his voice trembled a little. He tried to swallow it back, but if anything, the next time he spoke, it trembled even more. “I—I’m sorry, Stiles. I just—” he broke off, shaking his head. “I guess I’m just scared,” he started again. “And I guess it’s easier to just…not think about it. Or about her. It doesn’t hurt as much.”

Stiles, who both despised and understood the pain in Scott’s filling eyes, pulled him closer, almost in a sideways hug. Some part of him knew the contact helped Scott more than he would ever admit, and it made something almost protective flare up from the pit of his stomach. If he could make Scott feel better just with contact, then damn it, that’s what he’d do. He’d walk through the hallways at school holding hands with him if that’s what it took for him to be okay. Really, genuinely okay—not just the show.

Stiles sighed heavily, a weight on his heart. “Scott, take it from someone who’s kind of been through something like this—pushing it all away isn’t going to help. Pushing us away isn’t going to help. It’s just going to keep piling up, and one of these days, it’s just gonna break you.” Stiles kept his voice gentle, though he hated what he had to say next. “And while that’s an entirely _human_ thing, Scott…you’re not exactly entirely human. And there’s nothing wrong with that,” he added quickly, registering the hurt in Scott’s eyes, “really, there isn’t. It’s just…remember what happened last time a werewolf let all the grief and pain and anger he felt get to his head?”

Scott let his eyes close, and Stiles physically felt his heart hurting, like a hammer to the chest, at the tears hanging onto Scott’s lashes. “I try not to,” he admitted, his voice soft, quivering.

Stiles shook his head, and could hear the own pleading in his voice. “Peter physically couldn’t grieve, Scott. He was trapped in his own head, mentally caged in with all of those feelings that he couldn’t do anything about, and it broke him. You’re not. I’m trying to show you an out, here, Scotty. You can—you can cry, or scream, or throw things, or punch stuff. Whatever you need to do. You just can’t keep hiding it, letting it eat at you. As your best friend, I can’t let that happen. I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

And then Scott was crying. It caught Stiles off guard for only a fraction of a second, before he pulled him closer, a real hug now. Scott let his head drop to Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles could feel the warm tears soak through his shirt.  He rubbed Scott’s back, holding him closer, as Scott mumbled apologies into his shoulder.

“Hey, hey—stop that,” he chided gently. “You have nothing to apologize for. Besides snotting up my shirt, but I think I’ll even let that slide for tonight.”

Scott got out something that was either a laugh or a sob, Stiles couldn’t exactly tell which. “You’re wearing my shirt anyways,” he mumbled into Stiles’ shoulder, but his voice was muffled and thick from crying.

Stiles frowned and looked down, not even realizing it until then. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips. “See? I can’t even tell whose clothes are whose anymore, that’s how well we go together.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott got out again. “Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, dude,” Stiles assured him, tightening his grip just a little. “That’s what I’m here for, yeah? You’re there for me when I fall apart, and I’m here for you. That’s what best friends do—they pick each other up. It’s in the job description.” Scott, despite his tears, snorted a laugh, nodding as they pulled away from each other. Stiles kept an arm around Scott’s shoulders, though, and something twisted and selfish in his gut hummed pleasantly when Scott leaned into the touch as he wiped his eyes.

“Although,” Stiles ventured, something lighter in the air, “I was kind of expecting more claws and fangs than tears, tonight.”

Again, still half-crying, Scott snorted. “Yeah, well,” he started, sniffling, “I guess I’ve got a pretty good anchor.”

Stiles grinned almost triumphantly, squeezing Scott’s shoulders. “You bet your ass you do. Pretty funny, too, so I’ve heard.”

Scott laughed again. “And humble,” he joked, before swallowing hard.  They both fell silent, something heavy settling in the air again. After a long moment, Scott looked at Stiles, almost tentatively. “Why did you…why did you wait until today?” he asked quietly. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “If you’ve been thinking about it so much, why’d you wait until now?”

Stiles tightened his arm around Scott, tugging him closer. “It’s your time of the month,” he explained, and though Scott’s eyes were still watery, he couldn’t help but laugh a little. It made the weight in Stiles’ gut a little lighter. “You’re always more emotional around your time of the month.”

Scott shook his head, wiping at his eyes again. “So you wanted me to be emotional,” he clarified. “You wanted me to start crying?”

Stiles shook his head, eyebrows drawing together. “No,” he said quickly, “no, Scott, of course I didn’t want you to cry. I just—I guess I just wanted you to take the mask off, is all. At least around me.” That made Scott lift his gaze again, eyebrows drawn together. Stiles sighed. “Dude, we’ve been pretty much a package deal for nearly twelve years. You’ve seen me at my best and god knows you’ve seen me at my worst—I just want to return the favor, you know? I don’t want you to feel like you have to, I don’t know—put a front up, with me. It’s _me,_ Scotty. Nerdy, scrawny, sarcastic, almost too ADHD to function me. You don’t have to put a mask on with me.”

Scott, leaning into Stiles’ side, just watched him for a minute. He didn’t say anything, and for a long time, they stood in silence, leaning close to each other, keeping the other standing. Holding each other up. Then, suddenly, Scott frowned. “Did you just make a _Mean Girls_ reference?”

Stiles blinked at him for a second. “Er…maybe?” he responded, unsure. Then Scott was laughing, and Stiles couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Scott, you’re kind of missing the point, here,” he pointed out, but it was a light tone, as if the weight in his stomach had lifted.

The laugh faded from Scott’s lips, and there was a twinge of sadness in his eyes. “I don’t know, man. I just—I hate how empty I feel when I think about her. Even hearing her name just kind of makes me feel nauseous. It’s like, ever since she died, I can only remember the bad things—what I could’ve changed.”

Stiles nodded sympathetically. He got it. “Scott, I’m not gonna lie to you—missing her? Remembering her? It’s always going to hurt. My mom died eight years ago, and it still hurts almost as much as it did then. But it’ll get easier to remember the good things, even if it doesn’t feel like it now. It just takes time—as cliché and corny as it sounds.”

Scott nodded, before sighing deep. “Sometimes I forget,” he said abruptly, frowning down at his fingers again. “I’ll hear something, or see something and think _oh, Allison would love this_ and I’d turn to tell her, or go to text her, and…it just crashes back down on me. Sometimes I don’t know what to do when it does.”

Stiles, again, squeezed Scott’s shoulders. “I told you—it takes time. And until you, you know, get used to it? I’m literally a phone call, a text, and lately, a poke in the side away. Alright? Not to mention Lydia and the rest of the pack. We’re all here, Scott. You don’t have to figure it all out on your own.”

Scott wiped at his eyes again, though it seemed he’d stopped crying. “Thanks, Stiles,” he said softly, but the gratefulness in his voice nearly made heat rise to Stiles’ cheeks.

Stiles waved his free hand dismissively. “I told you before—it’s in the Best Friend job description. Comes with the title.”

Scott laughed at that, and Stiles was glad at how genuine it sounded.

He clapped Scott on the back, finally picking up the opened package of Oreos off of the counter—where he didn’t even remember placing them, honestly. It felt like a lifetime ago. “Come on,” he said, nudging him with his elbow. He nodded towards the living room. “I’ve still got tons of make-up work to do, and you’ve got tons of relaxing to do before the moon goes up.”

Scott raised an eyebrow at Stiles, who he knew better than that. “So, what—Netflix and stress-causing video games all night?”

Stiles grinned mischievously. “Only if you don’t mind getting your wolf ass royally whooped at Mario Kart over and over again.”

Now Scott grinned, and something in Stiles was finally at ease with it—because it wasn’t a mask, it wasn’t just there covering up some other feeling. He was honestly grinning. “Oh, you’re on.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, kind of an impromptu series addition, but it was fun to write and I hope I did the series justice? Also it's all becoming so angsty and I am so sorry but it has a kind of cuteish ending? I guess? Let me know what you think!


End file.
